Harleys and Horcruxes
by AlwaysEatTheRude21
Summary: The whole war, the lives lost, the families ruined, everything that had happened in the last decade fell upon one thing, Harriet Potter being a Potter. Only when Harry gets a surprise inheritance from her mother does she find out the truth kept buried deep, she was never a Potter to begin with. She is her fathers daughter, just not the father everyone had believed... Fem!Harry/Jax
1. Prologue

Notes: Gender swapped Harry, no Tara, set after all Harry Potter books and pre-season 1 of Sons of Anarchy.

* * *

 **WRITTEN IN A THOUSAND WORD DRABBLES**

* * *

 _Tig's stated in an episode he has only ever loved one woman, who tragically died in a car crash, while pregnant. Neither she nore the baby survived. But what if they had pulled through, after all, it's harder to kill a wizard or a witch than it is to kill a muggle... and Harry Potter has proven time and time again, death doesn't come easy for her..._

* * *

"Hermione, honestly, I'll be fine. It's been a three years since Voldemort's death, most of the deatheaters are either in Azkaban or dead, and I'll be gone a few months tops. You do not need to cancel your holiday to come with me to check out this old house my mum has left me. For the last time, I'm fine and to be honest, I could use the break. You know the ministry has been pushing for me to take that Auror position and I'm... I'm just not ready for that. I'll be back to annoy you before you know it."

Harriet, or plain old Harry as she liked to be called, closed her eyes and ran a tired hand down her face, absent-mindedly flinging her fiery copper curls out of her face, hearing Hermione sigh deeply from the other end of the phone line. Of course this would have all been easier on herself if she had have told Hermione about her impromptu trip over a floo call before she was already at the airport getting ready to board the plane, but she had left it to the last possible second for a reason, because she knew what Hermione would do, follow her, and this trip? This trip was private.

After the war had finished, a lot of hidden documents, wills and transfers had come spilling out of the ministries doors like a biblical plague as the new minister tried to right the once corrupt government. And through all this mass of parchment and goblins with their quils ready, came a side will of Harry's mothers, who for some reason had left it to Sirius to pass onto Harry on her 20th birthday, Sirius's death, or if/when the order of the pheonix won the war. Unfortunately, all three had come to pass, Harry's birthday having taken place just last week, and finally the backlogg of the ministry desk jockey's had caught up and Harry had gotten the chunk of will she should have had since she was fifeteen.

The odd thing, if you didn't include the piece of will Lily Potter had squirrelled away, even from James Potter, was the bareness and lack of... Anything on the will. No final words, no elongated court processes or hoops Harry would have to jump through to get to what her mother had given her. Nope, nothing but a line detailing what she had left to Harry, a request to deliver another letter to a Mrs. Morrow, charmed against anyone else but it's intended recipient opening it, two adresses, one for the house Lily had left to her and another for what Harry assumed was this Mrs. Morrow's place and one simple note, written in her mother's hand with what looked like tear drops scattered across, a note that set Harry on edge more than any snake, horcrux or maze ever could.

 _To my little Harriet, I hope, in time, you will come to understand why things had to be the way they were. If you are reading this, that means me, James, Remus, Severus and Sirius are dead and there is no one left to tell you the truth. I wish you happiness, dreams and a love filled life. Until then, please forgive me and what I have done and kept you from. I had no other choice. If I could only ask one thing of you, is give Alexander a chance when the time comes, he's a good man underneath all the bravodo, and so much like you. Go, live, love, laugh and find Gemma Morror. Forgive me, all my love,_

 _Lily_.

Truth. Wasn't that the bane of Harry's life. She had been lied to by nearly everyone in her relatively short life. Dumbledoore, the Weasley's, every professor she had ever had, Sirius, the Dursley's and now even her mother. But what had she lied about? Something big enough to warrent a teary letter and need of apology even in death? Harry didn't know, and she sure as hell wasn't sure she wanted to find out.

But this was her mother, and this could very well be her dying wish. Who was Harry to deny her that? No one, and really, after completing her education and milling around Grimmauld place for a year, she really could use a break from it all. A break from the paper's wondering what the big hero was up to next, a break from her friends who held equally high standards for her own life, a break from England and all the dank and dreary memories that haunted her. Plus, she had never visited America before.

She would go to this town, she would visit her mother's old vacation house, find this Mrs. Morrow, deliver the letter, have a month of sunshine and relaxation and then come back to rainy England. Finished, done, hands dusted. Surely even Harry, who quite possibly had the worse luck in the world, couldn't mess that up.

"Harry, are you even listening to me? Harry!"

Harry grimaced as the phone in her hand crackled from the shout of Hermione's indignant shriek. Knowing it was only going to get worse the longer she was on the phone with the bushy haired brunette who only meant well, Harry speadily spoke, already pulling the receiver away from her ear as she went to hang up.

"You're breaking up. Look my plane's arriving, I'll ring you back once I land. Don't have too much fun without me! Bye."

And with a resounding click of the hang up button, the call was ended and Harry was left alone, surrounded by bustling muggles in an airport. She would rather apparate or floo, but the town she was heading to had no floo network and having never visited before, apparating was out of the question if she didn't want to splinch herself. At least, once she actually got there, she would have her godfathers, Sirius's well loved, cherished and looked after motorbike waiting for her, having inherited it after his untimely death. Reaching down to her side, Harry had just enough time to pluck up her new and recently bought suitcase before a highpitched and girly squeal rang out over the intacom, nearly making her eardrums bleed at the frequency and loudness.

"Plane 237 now boarding, I repeat, plane 237 now boarding. Please make sure you have the right documentation and all bags before boarding. Have a good flight!"

Harry shoved her phone into her leather jackets pocket and scrambled for her passport, hastily joining a crowd that was heading towards the boarding dock. Nothing could, or would go wrong. After all, how dangerous could a town called Charming Be?

* * *

A.N: Well, I have no idea where this has come from, but the idea planted itself in my head and refused to leave. I have no clue if anybody will read this, let alone enjoy it, but here it is anyway XD.

If you are one of my followers, don't worry, my other stories will be updated, I've just hit a bit of a writing slump, and wanted to try something new to drag me out of it. However, in no way have I given up on my other stories, and new chapters will be out very soon.

As always, thank you for spending time reading my mad rambles and please let me know if I should continue this or not. Please review and until next time, stay classy! -AlwayEatTheRude21


	2. Bathroom Mishap

_~PROMPT: Tig in a bathrobe, a hasty spell and a panicked Harry.~_

* * *

The thrum and rattle of the metal beast rang true and hard as Harry twisted the throttle of Sirius's motorbike, swiftly turning the sharp corner to carry herself into the town that a yellowing, old sign boldly stated was Charming, just off the interstate she had been driving down. No matter how long since Sirius's death, no matter the time since she had inherited his bike, in her mind and heart it would always be his bike and never hers.

In a way, it kept him alive to her, as if he was back in England, in Grimmauld place with fire whiskey in one hand and cheeky smile etched on his face, waiting for her to return it. Harry had never fully accepted his death and she was pretty damn sure she never would. It was easier to pretend than it was to sit up and look the truth square in the face. And in this instance, she wasn't hurting anything or anyone, but maybe her psyche, in doing such.

The wind was ruffling through her hair, likely messing up the already aggravated rat's nest it was since her cramped plane ride next to a man twice her size, who thought it a brilliant idea to fall asleep on her... Drooling. If she wasn't at risk of outing the entire wizarding world, within ten minutes of being pushed up at the window to try and give herself some space from the monster of a man with sweat stains, she would have hexed the man right then and there, in a place no man would ever want to be hexed in. Sadly, she had not and had to spend the rest of her long and arduous plane ride, her first ever mind you, in that horrid position.

Now however, she felt a hell of a lot better. The sun was shining down, not a cloud in the sky, no one was draped over her, snoring away obnoxiously loud in her ear. Things were looking up. She had to ditch her leather jacket into her bag pretty much as soon as her feet hit California soil. Harry was used to English summers, sometimes sunny and warm with an easy breeze that took the edge off, but even the hottest of days back home had nothing on the boiling weather she was greeted with in America.

She was surprised people weren't puddles of goop around here, for if the wind wasn't currently blowing passed her, through her as she rode Sirius's bike, cooling her down, she was adamant that she would be a mass of gunk on concrete. It reminded her of the Triwizard tournament, battling the Hungarian horn tail, the skin crackling heat as it aimed dragon fire at her, missing by mere inches, thankfully. Merlin damn it, she was a redhead, she wasn't built for this sunshine or heat. Her shoulders were already flushing pink, tingling in that annoying way that happened before full out sunburn set up shop.

Though, to be entirely fair, from what little she had seen from driving from the airport to here, it was a stunning place. Alien compared to the rolling and lush hills of Scotland, or the concrete jungle of London, but just as beautiful in its own way. It was all very... Bright. Yellows, whites, golds, damn, even the asphalt of the roads looked to be brighter then it should have. How the hell could dark grey shine like that? She could almost understand why her mother had bought a holiday home here, if it weren't for the ominous note that kept replaying in Harry's mind, making her focus in on the words rather than the beautiful surroundings passing her by as she drove through Charming.

 _...Forgive me..._

Forgive her for what? What had she done? What had she said? No matter how much Harry racked her brains for the answer, tried to see the meaning, she just couldn't. The truth was she didn't know her mother. She had never met Lily Potter. Her one and sole memory of Lily was her dying scream and a flash of putrid green. How were you meant to guess the reasoning behind someone you didn't know? You couldn't. And it hurt Harry all that more, it shoved the bitter and foul truth in her face and forced her to bite down.

She didn't know her parents. They were strangers to her. Dead strangers at that, and the real kick in her gut was that everyone who knew them truly were dead too. Harry had no one to turn to and ask what her mother could be talking about. No one at all. She was on her own in this endeavour. Harry could have laughed at herself for that, when wasn't she alone when facing one of the many things fate thought great to chuck her way? Yeah, she had Ron and Hermione, two people she wouldn't trade for the world, but at the end of the day, when it mattered most, when the dust settled and the earth stood still, Harry was always the one standing a part from the crowd... Alone. Often with blood on her hands and tears in her eyes.

The very worst was she wasn't sure if she would believe anyone, even if they were alive to tell her. If she had learnt one thing from Albus Dumbledoore, from her sketchy and hard life, it was so incredibly easy for people to manipulate you, treat you as nothing but a chess piece, especially if they thought it was for the 'greater good'. She prayed, by Merlin did she pray, her mother hadn't done the same. Harry wasn't sure she would be able to handle that, not when she had seen first hand what this greater good did to people, to families, to society itself. To Harry, the ends never justified the means. Never.

So, as she pulled up to a rather large house, all blue and white and very picket fence like, no one could really blame her for the dread and apprehension sinking her gut like one of Hagrid's cupcakes. Switching the engine off and kicking out the kickstand to the big bike, Harry had to fight with herself to even muster up motivation to swing her leg over and stand. This was it, this was what she had crossed a continent for. _For a holiday, it really doesn't feel like one,_ Harry mused as she finally did come to a stand by the bike, delving her hand into her jeans pocket, bringing out a packet of half crushed cigarettes and an old zippo that, once again, belonged to Sirius.

It was a nasty habit she had picked up in the aftermath of the war, something to keep her hands busy and not shaking violently with twisted memories and glazed dead faces. In the end, it was either smoke, drink, or go insane and she thought she had chosen the lesser of three evils. Even if Hermione got on her case about it every other day.

Flipping the stick into her mouth, lighting and taking a hardy drag, Harry wearily eyed the house that looked just as the town was called, charming. She felt so out of place standing in the small drive way, leaning on the bike, puffing from the cig perched between her fingers, almost as if someone had tried to make a collage and accidentally glued in the wrong figure, totally destroying hours of painstaking cutting and glueing.

She must have looked out of place too, especially by the look shot at her from a jogging man as he made his way down the side walk, passing her with squinted eyes as he did so. She didn't blame the man, she was used to being stared at. As a child for her scrawniness and baggy boy clothes, as a teen for her scar and name, and now because... Well, she still had the scar, the flaming red hair didn't help matters either, no matter if she kept it haphazardly in something that could be taken as a bun, she had also grown in the years following aftermath of the war as she wasn't either starved by the Dursley's, on the run, or nearly dying every week or so.

The growth spurt had hit her fast and hard, seemingly happening over night. One week she was five foot two, barely thicker than a rake, the next she was standing five foot eleven, nearly six foot, curvy with actual God given tits that just managed to fit into a D cup. To be frankly honest, she could have done perfectly fine without the latter happening, at least her height helped her intimidate people from coming up and asking incessant and mundane questions.

As her fingertips brushed the cooling metal of the motorcycle, Harry glanced down and ran a loving hand along it. Then again, the bike didn't help passing by unnoticed either. Kicking off from the bike, Harry ditched the cigarette butt on the drive way and ground on it with the heel of her flat boot for good measure. If she didn't bottle up and go in there now, she never would. She had faced Voldemort, faced death, she needed to get her shit together if a little picturesque house threw her off her game now.

Marching to the front door, which was flaking slightly, letting the cherry wood peak out behind the white gloss in some places, Harry reached into her jeans once more and brought out the key the lawyer had given her, sliding it into the lock soundly. With one last steadying breath, Harry twisted the key sharply, pulled the handle and stepped inside with sure footsteps.

The inside of the house looked... Frozen. Not cold or icy in anyway, but as if her mother had been here just yesterday and not two decades ago. There was still a book open on the dining table, a mug perched next to it. A jacket, denim and obviously belonging to a woman, was slung over the back of a leather couch in the front room. Dishes and some cups were still on the draining board in the kitchen, ready to be put away.

Wearily, Harry made her way into each of the bottom rooms, feeling more and more confused with each new sight. There was no dust, no decay, nothing that would show time had passed in this house at all. Either her mother had placed a stasis charm on the whole house and it somehow held up even after her death, which was impossible, or someone new was living here and she had just broken in to this poor persons home. Which didn't make sense either, her mother never sold the house, or Harry would have never got it from her will. What in Godric's name was going on?

With more than an ounce of trepidation, Harry clambered up the stairs. There was only one way to find out if someone else was living in this house, and that was to snoop in the bedroom. If her mother's things were still there, then the house had simply held up better than expected. If not, well, Harry was getting the hell out of dodge before some angry muggle mob ran her down for breaking and entering. Could it still be classed as burglary if she had a key? Who the fuck knew any more.

Getting to the top of the stairs, Harry cursed her luck with a muted breath. Three doors, all closed. Which one, or two, was the bedroom? One of them she guessed was a bathroom, but from the outside and doors closed they all looked identical. Sliding passed the banister, Harry nearly began to whisper the eenie, meenie poem before she straightened herself out, thought fuck it, and marched towards one of the doors... Only for another to swing open.

Startled, Harry snapped around, growing wide eyed at the man standing in the entry way of one of the doors, belonging to the bathroom Harry guessed, in nothing but a fluffy bathrobe. The muggle, Harry could tell as there was no magical signature filtering through the air, was slightly bigger than Harry, broader too, middle aged with black hair that was as curly as her own, with a matching goatee and moustache to go along with it. However, it was his very clear, very blue eyes that were the most attention grabbing as they tripled in size at the appearance of Harry, his jaw going slightly slack as he stared at her.

Harry was already reaching for her wand, which she had jammed into her bun for safe keeping, when the man got his bearings and stuttered a sentence, lurching towards her with spread arms, right before Harry prematurely slammed the poor guy with a less than gentle stupefy.

"Lils? Baby? But you're dead... Wait... You're not Lily, you're too tall-"

Lily... This man, this muggle man knew her mother? It couldn't possibly be a coincidence, Harry's life never ran with coincidences. And what had she done before she could get any answers? She had knocked him out with a stunner, making him slam back into the bathroom and flop to the floor like a marionette with its strings cut. Shit...

The stunner could easily be explained away, if she stayed to get answers that is and didn't count her luck and run for it. What was she thinking? Of course she was going to stay. Harry knew her weakness's and strengths intimately, and curiosity always got the better of her. Just take that bloody chamber of secrets for example. She would just wait around, keep a level head, if she could calm the fuck down and once he awoke she would say he saw her and hit the deck... But that didn't explain what she was doing in his house... Well, her mothers... What was this man doing in her mothers house anyhow?

"Merlin's balls..."

Harry roughly shoved her wand back in her hair and scrubbed her eyes with a harsh hand, beginning to pace in the small hallway. How did she always manage to get into these messes? Why her? Couldn't she be the one to hear this story from Hermione or Ron for once and not be the one telling it over cringes and a pint of butter beer?

There was a passed out man in a dressing gown sprawled in the bathroom, who subsequently thought she was Lily, who called her mother baby apparently, in the house of her dead mother's, in America of all places... And yes, that was the door down stairs banging open and a woman's voice ringing out for who she guessed was the passed out man. Harry froze in mid stride, heart picking up pace. Had she already said shit? Because that was the only word that kept springing to mind with every passing second.

"Tig, Clay wants you at the garage ASAP! Have you found my jacket yet?"

Harry's eyes flickered between the stairway and the unconscious man, weighing whether she could leg it or not. However, as the stairs started creaking, telling Harry someone was on their way up, all Harry could do was look heavenwards and pray for a miracle that the woman didn't think she was a burglar that had knocked her friend out and was in the process of either killing him, or taking all his valuables. She really didn't want to obliviate two muggles who had done nothing wrong but stumble into her path.

Then, as if she hadn't known since she was eleven, she was hit in the face with the fact that she was a witch. Calming down a fraction, Harry tried to apparate out of there, only for the tugging in her gut that should have sent her somewhere else to jar inside her violently and splutter out like a waning candle. Anti-apparition wards... There were bloody anti-apparition wards on her mothers house! If she wasn't cursing her mothers memory before, she sure as hell was now.

"Fuck my life."

As the woman's face came into view, her eyes instantly locking onto Harry, the girl in question tried to smile disarmingly, likely looking all the more like a guilty grimace, and held her hands up in the universal sign of surrender. However, the woman's disbelief filled tone stated something Harry had not expected, but really should have at this point. It seemed like her mother was a well known person around these parts, despite twenty years having passed.

"Lily? Sweetheart?"

No, this new comer didn't think she was a robber, or even a stray, just her long deceased mother... Lily Potter had a lot to answer for.

* * *

 **A.N:** I hardly expected one person to favourite, follow or review this but the response has been, while not expected, really heart warming. So, here is chapter two! I hope you liked it. I know I said this would be in a thousand word drabbles, but as always, my fingers got away with me. I don't know whether the next one will be the same or not, but I'll try to keep them as snappy as possible. I know this hasn't got much drama in it, or Jax for that matter, but it is only Chapter two, so please wait awhile, it will pick up I promise.

 ** _IMPORTANT: _** like my I See You story, if you read it, this fic will be based on prompts. So please, don't be shy and send one my way. As I can't carry on the story without said prompts. P.M me, leave it in a review, damn, send it by owl if you have to (Or want to) just keep 'em coming.

 _For my followers,_ the next thing to be updated is **I See You,** as all I have to do is fine tune some points in the chapter. After that has been updated, this fic is likely to be next, as I still need some time to work on my other ones.

A giant THANK YOU to everyone who followed, favourited and reviewed, especially you beautiful reviewers! Honestly, I wouldn't be writing anything without you guys egging me on or giving me things to think about! Please, if you have the time, or want to leave a prompt for chapter three, leave a review, they're like my version of catnip :)

Until next time, stay beautiful! ~AlwaysEatTheRude21.


	3. A Helpful Stranger

**Opie Winston's P.O.V**

Sometimes, it takes a stranger to set you right. To open you up. To shed new light on a tough situation that you just can't see the end to. The funny thing about strangers is they come, they go and sometimes, if you're lucky, they stay. At some point, everyone was a stranger to you. Your best friend, your favourite teacher, neighbour, girlfriend, boyfriend, your aunt, your father and mother and siblings, strangers, the lot of them. Opie Winston, who was on his lunch break from the lumber mill, leaning on the back of his trucks bed fishing in his back pocket for a lighter, did not know he was about to meet a stranger who would change so much. Change _them_ so much.

Opie was having his own trouble lately. Fresh from prison, he felt like a stranger himself. Lost. Alone. A ghost to all those he loved and who loved him. Of course, Donna painted on a brave face, tried to keep it quiet and locked down, but somethings you cannot hide. You can't hide the missing plate not laid at the table because you had gotten used to laying only three. You can't hide the jilt of surprise when he came out of the bathroom in the morning. You can't hide the kids not needing to be tucked into bed anymore or read a bed time story. Five years. Five fucking years and he was nothing but a phantom in his own home now.

"Fuckin' hell!"

Opie swore when he couldn't find the lighter he had been sure he had pocketed that morning, crushing his carton of smokes in his large fist before he threw it away from him and into the grass, sighing deeply as he ran a tired hand down his face and flopped to a seat in the bed of the truck. He shouldn't have done that. He couldn't afford another carton and every cent was needed back home. Donna was already running herself ragged and he did not want or need to add anymore stress to those slender shoulders. If only he could go back to the clu-… No. Donna had made it clear where she and subsequently their marriage stood if he took that road. Although, sometimes, he wondered if she was simply daring him to take that step so she didn't have to. Through the cracks of his splayed fingers, Opie saw a carton of smokes appear, a zippo nestled amongst the nicotine and tinfoil of the pack.

"Here, looks like you need one as much as I do."

Pulling his hand away, Opie took stock of the offerer before he cracked the politest smile he could and snagged one and the zippo. She was a tall, sharp featured and fiery coloured thing with rambunctious curls looking seconds away from bursting free from their elastic prison. She was dressed innocuously, manly even. The plain white T-shirt, ripped boyfriend jeans and scuffed timberland boots, however, did nothing to detract the femininity of her. Contrary, it enhanced it somehow.

Once he lit up, he handed her the zippo back, looking just passed her shoulder as she lit her own, eying up the impressive bike she must have silently drove up on him on. A 1959 Triumph 650 T120 Bonneville in smoky black, if he wasn't mistaken… And he wasn't, he never was. The woman had taste, that was for sure. When he glanced back towards her, she idly jerked her head to his side, to a free space on the truck bed, before she spoke. Her voice matched the motorcycle, husky, decadent, slightly dark and dry.

"Mind if I sit for a bit?"

Opie shook his head, sliding along the rim of the back to give the woman more room as she sidled in, hopping up and through the open back flap to sit down.

"Go right ahead, ain't got no business to be getting to yet."

It was silent for a while, nothing but birds chirping and the whirling mechanical noise of the lumber mill grinding rippling through the hot air before the strange woman broke it with a question, although she never looked at him, keeping her sight on the stretch of road that laid ahead of them.

"Shit day?"

He chuckled deeply, the smoke in his throat rolling up and out of his nostrils as he ran a hand through his sweaty hair, pushing the locks back out of his face. He too found himself staring down that road. It led out of town and towards the airport, one of the only routes out of Charming.

"Shit half a decade if I'm honest."

The woman chuckled along, rubbing at her eyes before taking a long and hard drag from her smoke, her words swirling out with the fog almost as if it would form the letters to what she was speaking. That's it, that's what she reminded him of, the poise and deep notes of the caterpillar from Alice in wonderland, the mad hatters hair and the Cheshire cats shit-eating-grin and large predatorial eyes. Madness rolled into skin, bone and tissue. Alluring, as all sorts of madness was.

"Bloody tell me about it."

"Your accent… Not from around here are you?"

She gave him a side look then, one eyebrow perched high, head slightly tilted to the side as if he stated something as obvious as the sky being blue. Maybe he had.

"Course not, travelled over the great pond. Was it the bloody that gave me away?"

Her tone was playful, taunting, and Opie joined in, finding respite from the stress of work, money and family between the spaces left between the words.

"That and the sun burn. Didn't think people could turn that shade of red."

She kicked back, propping her elbow on the side of the truck bed, resting her chin on her palm just as Opie sat down too, crossing one leg over the other. With the heavy sun bearing down upon them, her hair looked like it was made of fire, almost as sharp as the glint off his truck rims.

"Yeah, well, England doesn't see much of the sun. Freaked me out once I stepped of the plane, I thought the sky was on fire."

Opie laughed, his barrelled chest rumbling, mindlessly scratching his bearded chin. All he had ever known was this sunshine, the never-ending brightness. He found it hard to imagine rain, grey skies or cooler climates.

"Here for long?"

She gave a noncommittal shrug, but he saw something hard and stone like barricade her eyes, shadowing them.

"Meant to be on vacation. Thinking of cutting it short though and heading back to the island you pilgrims ran from."

Opie nodded, nothing much more he could do.

"Shame, Charming has its, well, charming spots. Well, it used to, not too sure about now."

She must have picked up something from his words, his tone, perhaps his face as her body partially turned towards him, locking gazes finally.

"Been away long?"

"Could say that."

Silence reigned and no matter how hard Opie would think on the matter later, he would never know why he opened up like he did then. Maybe it was her open, kind face. Maybe it was the ease of the summer breeze cooling the sweat on his brow. Maybe it was due to desperation. Desperation to let it all out, to have someone finally listen to the storm raging inside of him. Maybe, or maybe it was nothing at all.

"Went to prison for five years, been out only a few months. Everything is exactly the same and yet…"

"Completely different? Like everything has been moved just an inch to the right and it leaves you feeling misplaced and forgotten… I know the feeling."

Exactly. The world felt like it was off it's axis just by a single degree and he was the only one who had felt the shift. Still, the woman seemed young, in her early twenties, he wondered how she knew the feeling. Still, this weird sense of comradeship befell him, and he gave her a grin.

"Been in the pen too? Bit young. Not planning on robbing me, are you? I must let you know, I only have three dollars on me and half a pack of gum. Better pickings would be in town."

The woman laughed, loud, toothy and unrestrained.

"No I-… Well, shit. I woke up this morning thinking I knew everything. I knew where I came from, where I belonged, where I was going and what I was doing along the way. I was an orphan. Parents died young, family dead too and the three left want nothing to do with me. Turns out I know Jack fucking shit."

Perhaps she was suffering from the same thing he was, a loose mouth, or perhaps they both needed so desperately someone to talk to, to not judge, that this is what it came down to. Spilling your guts to a stranger. Oddly, it felt refreshing.

"Got an aunt squirrelled away?"

A single, rebellious curl broke free as she shook her head almost violently, before letting her gaze slide back to his. Now that he thought of it, her eyes were a strange colour too. Green, bright, vibrant. Almost too much so. Like cat eyes glowing in the dead of the night, watching you from the shadows. Bizarrely, he thought those eyes didn't miss a thing, not while they were aimed at you. He felt a little niggling at the base of his skull, a tickle before it disappeared. He knew eyes like hers, not the colour, but that twinkling, observing-ness. If they had have been blue, she'd look a lot like Tig.

"No. Turns out I'm not as orphan-y as I originally believed. Got a father… A real Merlin damned father who isn't the one in the grave I've been visiting. Everyone knew, no one said a damn thing. Mother knew too, led me on a merry trail here to meet the guy through her bloody will."

Well, shit. That wasn't an easy truth to come by.

"Did he know?"

She flicked the ash of her cig over the side of the truck without breaking eye contact, the tip flaring as red as her hair as she inhaled. It was only then he noticed her scar. Thick, long, silvery white. It splintered across her forehead in the shape of a lightning bolt, tail end cleaving one eyebrow in two, touching base on the tip of her eyelid where skin met lash line. It was a mean looking thing, meaner still when it wasn't healed as it was. Not only did she almost lose that eye, she likely nearly lost her life. Just what had those luminescent eyes seen in such a short amount of time?

"No… Funny thing is, he thought we were both dead… From a car crash. The same lie I thought that had killed my parents when I was little. Turns out I'm not the only tricky fucker when it comes to death, my mum was good at playing dead too."

His heavy brows pulled together, crinkling in middle like folded newspaper.

"Let me get this straight. Your mum shacked up with a guy, got pregnant, faked her death, moved to England and then met another guy, hitched, then died and led you here through a will?"

Her smile turned sad then, all melancholy lines and sardonic twists.

"Not quite. My parents… Who I thought were my parents, well, you could say they were a sort of freedom fighter. Worked for the government. My mother Lily and who I thought was my father, James, vacationed over here, made friends with the locals. Lily fell in love but shit was happening back home that she thought she could protect the guy from, so she faked her own death. She didn't know she was pregnant at the time. He did though, through the blood she used to fake her death and a morg report, and he thought we were both dead. Lily and James then went back to England, things got dark… Real dark and a year later, they were murdered. I came of age this year and her will was given to me, with a house and a request to deliver a letter attached to it. Turns out she decided to also give the house to my real father in hopes I would get to meet him, along with a letter to her best friend here to explain everything. Just a fucking letter and everything's gone to hell in a basket and I don't know anything."

Opie hummed.

"No offence, but you could write a book about this shit and get the cash rolling in. This is some espionage, breaking bad shit. How did the guy, your real dad, take it?"

She broke eye contact then, and for a split second, he felt that twinge in his brain again, a feathering touch pulling away. She shrugged once more, but her shoulders were stiff, jaw clenching and flexing as she looked out back to the highway that led to the airport.

"Got pale, sat still for a lifetime before he came at me, misty eyed and trying to hug."

"And the women, your ma's best friend?"

"Freaked the hell out, denied it all at first, called it bullshit before she crumbled and said I had my… _His_ hair and cheekbones, his eyes too… Apart from the colouring. Tried to get me to stay, to sit down... To bloody talk as if this is something that just happens. Something words can magically fix."

He knew that feeling deeply. Oh, how he dreamed words could fix things. That sitting down and trying to hash it out would work. He had tried that with Donna many a time, and yet they always ended the same way. Screaming and a slammed door. Now here was the tough question.

"And you? I doubt you did talk it through if you're here, sitting with me."

She puffed out some air upwards, towards her face, forcing the curl to swing away from her eyes. Leaning forward, she rested her elbows on her bent knees, one lone boot swinging back and forth.

"I froze. Got numb. It's all a bit fuzzy if I'm honest. I just remember reading the letter, throwing the keys to the house at him, saying it was his now, charging out the front door, hopping on my bike and booting it for the airport, planning on going back to Britain and pretending this never happened. I mean, I've lived this long with the lie, what's a lifetime more?"

She wasn't speaking to him anymore, wasn't trying to convince him. She was trying to convince herself. He knew that all too well too. He did the same in the bathroom mirror each morning. He would tell himself it would all be alright. Give it time. They, his family, needed to get used to him being around again. It wasn't fair for him to feel hurt when it was his own fault that he got sent away from them in the beginning. And yet, no matter how many times he told himself thus, he never stopped hurting. He never stopped questioning.

"And yet, you're here and not on a plane and not once have you called England your home or mentioned going back to any sort of family. That says something, even if your too stubborn to not let it through your lips."

Just like he was too stubborn to tell Donna he just wanted her to hold him. Too stubborn and scared to say that he needed the club as much as he needed his family, because they were family too. Too angry at the world to let anyone think he was anywhere near hurting as much as he was. Oh, he knew. Him and this strange woman, they were cut from the same cloth. Perhaps in helping her, he'd finally be able to help himself.

"He's… He's a stranger. An unknown. I don't even know his last name. This place is strange too, all sunshine and blue skies and… I feel like an alien, as if I've fallen into a twilight zone and can't escape."

She got heated then, as all people do when confronted with the truth that their self-denial and pretty lies were trying to hide or push away.

"Everyone is a stranger… Until there not. Only you can choose to change that. Plus, you're still here, aren't you? Around here, family means something, something deep and true and bottomless. To me, it seems family means the same to you. Otherwise you'd be off down that road and to the airport already, not sitting here and having a smoke with me."

Her head sagged, neck lolling and for a long while, all was quiet before she jumped off the truck, chucking her cig away as she rolled her shoulders, life apparently seeping back into her veins.

"It does… Fuck. You're right."

Opie dashed his own cig, pulling away from the truck.

"So, you off then? At least you know where he lives."

She began walking backwards, towards her bike, the Cheshire grin back in place and looking like it would stay. Opie… Opie was happy about that. Someone so young shouldn't have a smile so sad and hurt.

"Nah, I know where he'll be. As I was driving away he shouted for me to meet him there tonight, to give him a chance, to…"

Too painful. She likely had trouble driving away from the guy and even speaking of it, turning her back on someone, she didn't seem the type to be comfortable with doing anything like that sort of thing.

"Ay, his family, he'll forgive you. It's a lot to take in, he knows that."

She stopped walking then, stuck between him and her bike, caught between the shadows of the tree and the sunshine, locked between empty spaces. Still, those eyes glowed, as if she was peering into his soul.

"I hope so. Your wife knows it's a lot too, so do your kids."

"…What?"

"The reason they're so jumpy? Why they don't talk to you much? Why they're quiet? They know it's a big change for you, coming home, they don't want to burden you, so they keep their distance. Just don't let them. Your wife is only scared of loosing you again, but you can't keep pushing your friends away either. They're family to you too and I'm sure if you explain it to her, lay it out all flat and honest, she'll come around. You shouldn't have to choose between families, no one should put that on you. Just assure her you're not going anywhere but you won't be pushed into a corner either. If she loves you even as half as much as you love her and those kids, she'll understand. After all, by the sound of it, they were her family too at one point, she likely misses them as much as you. She's just too stubborn to do anything about it… So you'll have to for her."

His mind jumbled, lurched and stalled as if he was a car or bike himself and she was a spanner that had been thrown into his inner workings.

"How… How did you know?"

Her grin grew wider, and he swore he saw one of her fangs glint.

"Let's say I'm good at reading people's minds, especially when they're distracted by my sob story. I'll see you around sasquatch."

She winked at him, began walking away, giving him a little wave over her shoulder as she made it to her bike, slid on and revved the engine, pulling away to eventually be swallowed by the horizon… Driving the opposite way from the airport and back into town. As if timed perfectly, just as she pulled away, Jax Teller pulled up right beside him, quickly glancing towards the retreating figure he had momentarily crossed paths with.

"Who was that?"

"I-… "

He realized he never got her name, nor did he give her his. Maybe it was better that way.

"Just a stranger… What are you doing here Jax? I thought I told you to leave me alone last time."

He grinned just as toothily as the woman had, reaching up to unlatch his helmet and plonked it on his handle bars.

"I thought it was worth one last shot. You know, having been friends since we were both in diapers, I think the fight to get through your stubborn skull is at least worth three or four rounds. Come on, come to my mum's house tonight, everyone is having some down time and some good grub. She's even-"

Perhaps it was the woman who had talked him into it. Perhaps he was always going to accept. Who knew anymore. The only thing he knew was he could no longer be stuck in this limbo he found himself in. Part of the club yet excluded. A free prisoner. A husband and father who wasn't really much of either.

"I'll be there."

* * *

 **Gemma Morrow's P.O.V**

 _Dear Gemma,_

 _If you're reading this and I'm not there to tell you in person, we both know what that means. It seems like a lifetime ago when I was there, with you, Clay, Tig, John, Leann, Sirius, James and the rest, soaking in the sunshine, drinking whiskey straight and dancing until the moon turned into the sun, but really, it's only been a few months for me. I wonder how long it's been for you?_

 _No, I'm getting off track and there's no good in wondering. If this letter is read, it means one thing, I'm dead and the answer isn't important. Still, I wonder how old my darling Harriet is. I'm p_ _raying that Sirius has done what he promised and taken Harriet to you and Tig as soon as me and James are in the ground, but I doubt it. There are people here, bad people and good who want something from her, something no mother wants her child to give and I, well, I've jumped the gun again. I can't tell you much, I doubt you would believe me anyway, but I'll tell you all I can and I'll hope you'll understand enough to forgive me for what I've done and to give my daughter a loving family. Perhaps, in time, Harriet will tell you the rest._

 _There are bad things happening back home, dark and twisted things. A war is brewing, though, I doubt you'll read it in the newspaper or see it on the TV. Me, Sirius, Remus, James, we're all involved. People are dying, brother is turning against brother and I thought by leaving, it would stop them coming after Tig, after you and the others… The children. So, I ran. We all did. I faked it, the blood, the body, it was all a lie. If you thought we we're dead, if Tig saw the crash, you wouldn't try and find us and you would stay out of the line of fire about to crash upon us. I didn't know I was pregnant, you have to believe me on that, I didn't know and by the time I did, it was all too late to turn back._

 _A man,_ _he's promised me and James a safe haven, but I feel its actually a prison and it's only now that I feel it's bars closing in on me, on my child. I'm planning on having Harriet and making my way back, but with this letter, I know now that it was all but a naive dream. Either way, the plan didn't work and I'm gone. If Sirius or Remus aren't there, then I fear the worst has happened._ _I'm scared and petrified and terrified and I can't run, not from this and not from them._ _I only want a good life for my child, happy, safe, that kind of life is not here, not for her and so I send you my most precious legacy._

 _If she's there, Harriet, it means she survived the fire that wiped us out. She'll survive, I know she will. She's a fighter, even now, as I write this letter, she's kick-boxing my ribcage and head-butting my bladder._ _I remember your children, all John blond and blue with your smile, Tommy and Jax wasn't it? I can almost picture mine and yours playing on that tire swing out front of Piney's home._

 _It seems lately all I have is dreams, but dreams don't mean nothing to my child, it won't give them a full, safe and happy life. So, I've done as much as I can with the confines of what death has placed on me. I've lead her back there and I only hope she's greeted with spread arms and a gentle smile. Before you start calling bullshit,_ _I know what you're like,_ _look at her. Really look at her. I don't know what she'll look like, but I picture her with my hair and Tig's eyes, even if that is not the case, you'll see Tig in her, I know you will. She's already giving me headaches like Tig, and she isn't even born yet. Ever so, look at her and you'll see the truth._

 _She'll likely fight this. With mine and Alexander's temper combined, I can only imagine what hers will be like._ _I wish I was there to see it, to explain, to hold her and cry with her and_ _... But perceiver, please, I beg you. Don't let her walk away like I did. Don't let her keep running like I did. If she's there, she's alone in the world now. Alone. Angry. Hurt. Everything I never wanted her to be. But she doesn't have to stay that way. Give her a chance, even if it's only in favour of the memory of those summer months we all spent together, for the memory of me._

 _There should be another letter within this one, please give it to Tig. I have so much to say and so little paper and time. Tell Alexander he was my favourite hello and hardest goodbye and if I did anything at all right in my life, it was giving my heart to him. I hope you've all led happy, full lives, with plenty more years to come. I hope they've been full of laughter and smiles and continue to be so. I wish I had been there to see it all._

 _Forever and a day yours,_

 _Lily Trager._

The letter crumpled in her hand, shaking violently as her eyes misted, scanning the words scribbled, crossed out and hastily written on the sheet of paper once Clay handed it back to her. She would not cry. Gemma Morrow did not cry, not over wounds inflicted long ago. She had read the letter five times now, Tig twice before he stormed away, perched himself at the dining table and began to stare into his drink. Clay… Clay had grown silent. Heavy. Oppressive.

"She… She survived the crash?"

Gemma cocked her hip, leaning against the window sill of her and Clay's living room, away from prying ears and eyes of the club bustling around the kitchen, getting ready for family dinner. It was strange, having known someone had died, grieved and mourned, then to find out they had lived, only to have really died a second time around without you ever really knowing. It wasn't something easy to wrap your head around and Gemma felt the tempo of a headache beating itself at home at her temple.

"And died. She had… Has a daughter. Tig has a daughter. Jesus Christ Clay, she looks just like Lily but she has Tig written all over her."

She, Tig and Clay were the only ones to know at the moment. The younger generation, Opie, Jax, Juice, they wouldn't understand, they didn't remember Lily. However, when the news broke, when Piney, Chibs and Bobby finally found out, well, hell would break loose. Lily… Lily had wormed her way into a lot of hearts. She had been bright. Lively. All laughter and dancing banter… Now she was dead. It felt like she had died all over again. God knew what Tig was going through, Gemma remembered with startling clarity how well he had handled it the first time and feared a repeat. However, this time the baby wasn't gone. The baby was now a twenty-year-old woman who looked ready to spit venom into their eyes. A woman who had drove away from them as Tig had shouted for her to come here tonight, to speak to him, to listen and-… To give him the chance he had thought he had lost all those years ago. It had been heart-breaking to watch.

"Why didn't she come to us? We could have helped her. We could have-"

"She was obviously scared. Terrified by the looks of it. Whatever she was running from, whatever she was trying to shield us from, it was big enough and mean enough to put the fear of god into her and you remember Lily, nothing scared that girl. James too. That man would deck a lion in the face if he thought it would be a good punchline to one of his jokes. Sirius used to be the danger, or the one to sit down to drink and joke with it, and Remus was always so calm, so easy going, nothing ruffled his feathers. To have them all run, to have them all react like this... Obviously running was the only option."

In truth, the only one with the answers was Harriet, and she was likely on a plane back to England right now. A commotion from the kitchen broke their impromptu conversation, forcing Gemma and Clay to scrabble out of the shut off living room and into the dining room, where the sound was originating from. They found Juice on the floor, having been knocked over, and Tig pushing the empty dining chair beside him back into the table, plate and cutlery all set. Gemma winced at the sight.

"I was only trying to sit down before Tig fucking lost it and shoved me out of the chair."

Juice explained as he dragged himself up, wearily eying Clay. Clay only huffed and looked at the chair, wincing slightly. Tig, however, didn't miss a beat.

"The seats taken."

Gemma tried to be gentle, she really did. God knows what he was feeling right now, but he had to prepare himself for the inevitable.

"Tig… I don't think she's coming. You saw how she drove away-"

"She'll be here. I know she will."

The rest of the club were silently watching on, confused and befuddled but not confident enough to prod Tig with questioning when he was in such a mood. Clay only nodded, but was broken from saying anything as the back door opened and in strolled Opie Winston of all people, her son Jax trailing him in. The other club members began to pile the table up with food as Clay scanned Opie, Jax keeping tight to his side in a silent show of support.

"So, you've decided to show your face again?"

With so much going on in one single dinner, Gemma's headache was beginning to turn into a migraine. Elbowing Clay in the ribs, she spoke through clenched teeth. Just for one night, they would sit and eat and laugh. Business and conversations could be left till morning.

"And it's good to see it, isn't it Clay?"

"Yeah, get here kid."

Clay got the hint and pulled Opie into a one-armed hug, patting him on the back as he let go to help the rest in getting the food to the table. Gemma sighed as she smiled at her son, hugging him too as Opie made his way to his seat next to his father, Piney.

"Alright Pa?"

Letting go of her son so he could find his own seat, mingling with his friends around the room before he sat down on the chair beside the empty one, on the right of Clay, Gemma took hers just before Opie's, on the left-hand side of Clay's head seat at the very end. From her seat, she couldn't see Piney eyeing up his son, but she definitely could hear the questioning tone of his voice.

"Didn't know you were coming tonight. I asked you yesterday and you were adamant you were done."

However, Gemma was too wrapped up in looking at Tig to really take notice of their hushed conversation. She could see him glancing at the empty chair, gaze never straying far from it and Gemma's heart turned to stone that jumped and lodged itself in her throat. When she caught Jax's gaze, along with his frowning, questioning nod towards the empty chair beside him, Gemma gently shook her head. She would explain later. Later, when the empty plate would be cleared away and not be a blaring reminder that Lily's daughter… Tig's daughter was alive and had left as quickly as she had come.

"I didn't think I would be turning up until earlier today."

Perhaps she should drive to the airport, cut the girl off if she hadn't already left. Try one last time to talk to her, to explain, to hear her explanation. But no, as much as she wanted to, she couldn't do that. If the girl was to listen, if she was to stay and become a part of this family, it would be of her own accord. She would have to walk through that door and take that seat herself.

"What changed your mind?"

Clay asked as he took his own seat, everyone beginning to put the steaming food onto their plates now that everyone was sitting. Gemma bit the inside of her cheek, tasting copper as she silently watched as Tig put food onto the empty plate beside his as well as his own, making sure she would have a good, large meal when she got here. But she wasn't coming. Gemma knew. And that plate would stay full and grow cold and only be a reminder to Tig that she wasn't there to eat it.

"Funny enough, some English woman."

Tig stalled in plopping some mashed potatoes onto his and her plate, dashing the ladle back into the bowel as he rounded on Opie.

"English woman? Twenty? Red hair? Has a scar down her-"

"Forhead? You know her?"

Tig looked ready to bounce out of his seat like his nickname sake.

"Where is she? What was she doing?"

Opie seemed to freeze as he noticed the intense stares he was getting from Clay, Tig and Gemma, stumbling over his words.

"I-Uh-She… She was riding to the airport but got talking to me. Don't rightly know where she is right now, but she was heading back into town to meet her Pa and her Ma's friend when she took off again."

She… She was coming back? Then where was she? Charming wasn't a big town, Gemma had managed to shout the address to her as she barged out the front door of Lily's home. Before Gemma could gain a grasp over her whirling thoughts, Tig slammed his hand down on the table, squaring Gemma with a grin.

"I told you she was comin-"

The doorbell rang out clear and bright, most at the table having stopped eating to watch and listen to a conversation they had no hope in understanding. Gemma cast one swift glance to Clay before she heaved herself out of the chair and towards the door, ignoring the lingering gazes of the others as she turned the corner into the hallway. Before she left, she could hear Clay telling the others to get back to eating.

Reaching the door, Gemma breathed in deeply through her nostrils before opening it. There she stood, a bottle of wine in one hand and a fancy wrapped cheese platter in the other. Her hair was down, wild and loose, tickling the base of her spine, looking all the more like a lion's mane. She had cleaned up a bit too, gone were the timberlands, replaced by sleek suede brown ankle boots, dark washed jeans that actually fit her, the white T-shirt stayed the same, but over the top was a dark green leather bomber jacket that was cropped around the waist and elbows. Lily… She looked so much like Lily and yet Tig's differences were somehow so pronounced in her, that he overshadowed Lily's ghost with his own flavour. When all Gemma did was stare, Harriet gently shook the bottle of wine.

"I didn't know what it was you brought to these sorts of things, so I went with cheese and wine."

Gemma blinked, and blinked and blinked. She didn't think Harriet would show up. Not after watching how fast she hightailed it out earlier… But by god, she had never been more happy to be proven wrong. Lily had been like a sister to her, a friend in crime, life, tears and laughter. To see her daughter, to have just a little piece of Lily left… It meant more to Gemma than she could ever verbalize.

"I-… Cheese and wine are great darlin'. Come in, come in! We're just about to eat, you haven't missed much."

Stepping out of the way, Gemma took the cheese platter from the young woman, as well as the bottle of wine and ushered her into the dining room. So caught up in her own storming emotions, Gemma forgot that Bobby, Piney and Chibs had no clue what was going on… And subsequently, what Harriet's appearance would do to them like it had done to her and Tig earlier that day. As soon as they stepped into the room, the reaction was almost instantaneous.

"Lily? Wait…"

"Jesus, Lils?"

"Aye, Lily, lass-…"

Thankfully, Harriet, or apparently Harry as she liked to go by, had her head on straight where Gemma, for once, did not. Calmly, she replied, as if she was used to getting mistaken. In all truth, with her appearance, she likely was. The only hints that tipped a person off was the shear height of the girl and her more feline features she got from Tig.

"Harry. My name's Harry. Lily's my mother."

Everyone fell silent, the younger ones because they wouldn't get the gravity of that statement, the others because they were finally letting the pieces full into place with a resounding clank. Gemma made her way to the side table, placing down the wine and cheese. Harry, bless her soul, awkwardly shuffled in her spot before Tig jumped to, dragging out the free chair for her.

"I-ugh. I saved you a seat."

And there it was. The real test. By the weariness in Harry's eyes, in Tig's, in Clays and surely her own, they all new the real question being asked here. If she took that seat, she was staying. She could still leave now, pretend like none of this happened, but if she took that seat, she would have to face the truth, good and bad, and weather it along with them. After what felt like a lifetime, Harry's shoulders squared, she grinned a smile so much like Tig's it was startling, nodded, spoke as she took the seat.

"Cheers."

No one seemed to know what to say, so Harry took it upon herself to try and crack the stagnation.

"Hey sasquatch. Told you I would see you around"

Opie smiled at her, tension leaving his brows and lips.

"Yeah, could have given me the heads up earlier."

"Where's the fun in that?"

Then it fell silent again, Harry's knuckles turning white on the edge of the table. This time, Gemma took up the mantle to ease the pressure and rigidity they found themselves smothered in.

"Do you… Do you want some wine?"

Harry politely shook her head.

"No thanks, can't stand the stuff personally. I don't suppose you have any Jim beam whiskey, do you? Black and dry?"

Piney beamed, chuckling blusterously.

"Ah, a girl who knows her whiskey! That's Tig's poison of choice too."

Tig picked up his tumbler and held it out for Harry.

"Here, have mine, I'll go and get us a bottle from the kitchen."

Harry took it, sipped, grinned and placed it down, her shoulders sagging a little from built up stress of the situation. Nothing like a bit of liquid courage to build you up.

"Thanks. Sorry I'm late, I forgot you American's drive on the right side of the road, nearly ran your neighbours husband off and into a tree."

One by one, everyone began to ease back in their chairs, picking up cutlery and beginning to eat once more. Around a bite of steak, Clay smirked at Harry.

"If it was Delilah's husband, you should have finished the job off. Nosey shit won't stop complaining about the noise in the neighbourhood."

Chibs jumped onto the train of conversation that was beginning to pick up speed, adding his two cents to the fuel in hope of keeping it going and not end up lapsing into another bout of foggy silence.

"Aye, he's the one that cycles everywhere isn't he? Those shorts he wears are-"

Gemma tuned the rest of the conversation out as she began to eat, watching as Tig walked back in, smiling at Harry as he sat down, Harry returning the gesture. The atmosphere picked up, the heavy questions and curiosity being laid to rest for the remainder of the meal. No doubt they would come back later, but for now, there was only laughter, good food and family.

* * *

 **Who's P.O.V do you want to see next?**

* * *

 **A.N:** A super sorry for such a long wait, but I've been busy with life lately and I've hardly had time for a good cup of tea, let alone writing much. However, I'm hoping to start back up again, and the next update shouldn't be too long, just know I don't intend to abandon any of my fics, especially this one. To make up for the hiatus, I was originally having this chapter split in two, but doubled it up to a whopping 8k word length in hopes to make it up to you lovely readers. I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did writing it! Remember, prompts are more than welcome, and if used in the chapter, I'll credit the idea at the very top.

 **THANK YOU** to all those who reviewed, your kind words pushed me to continue and kept me thinking of this fic even when I took a step back from writing, and are a big reason why I want to continue. So thank you all! Plus, thank you to all those who followed and favourited, I hope you are liking the ride so far! I have big plans for this fic.

As always, see that little box down there? **Drop a review** , they really do help in the creative process, even if it is only just a few words.

Until next time, stay beautiful! ~AlwaysEatTheRude21


End file.
